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“Ride safe, you two,” I call out, my words steady despite the drumming in my chest. “And Tex, keep an eye on her, will ya?”
Texas tips his chin up. “Always do,” he replies, and though his words are few, they’re laden with a weight that reassures me.
Jane looks up at him, the pale green of her eyes gleaming even in the dim light of the exit sign. She’s got this small, tentative smile playing on her lips, like she’s on the cusp of some great discovery, and it makes something in my chest tighten.
“Ready?” Texas asks, his hand hovering just shy of her lower back—a gentleman’s invitation, respectful and protective all at once.
“More than ready,” Jane responds, and there’s this undertone to her voice, a hint of excitement laced with a touch of defiance.
It’s as if stepping out with him is her own quiet rebellion, a claim to the life she’s been denied too long.
They move together, their shadows merging and parting beneath the flickering streetlights outside. My gaze follows them until the door swings shut, cutting off my view, cutting off my reach.
Inside, the bar hums with its usual rhythm, but I’m adrift in my thoughts. I wonder about Jane and Texas. He used to blow through town when I owned the bar. Always a wild one, never settling down but the way he looked at Jane, well, that was different.
I push off from the bar and start cleaning up, the motions slow and deliberate. Every clink of glass, every swipe of the rag, feels like a small victory.
“Can I have another?” a patron asks, holding up an empty glass.
“Sure. What’ll you have?”
“The cheapest beer you have.”
With a chuckle, I pour him a beer. “A man of expensive tastes, I see.”
He laughs. “My wife will have my balls if I spend too much.”
With a nod of understanding, I pass him his beer. “Well, we can’t have that.”
He slides me a twenty-dollar bill and I give him his change.
The night goes on without incident, Ricky and Snake behave and leave early. Slowly, the crowd thins.
“Alright, let’s wrap it up! Last call!”
The pace picks up; the patrons begin their nightly ritual of farewells and last-minute drinks. I let them draw it out, this bar was my home for too many nights to count. Spending a little more time here will do my soul some good.
CHAPTER 8
JANE
The streets of my small town stretch out before us, a patchwork of shadows and dim streetlights. The night air carries the scent of rain that’s held off for days now, mingling with the earthy aroma of the surrounding woods. Storefronts stand like silent sentinels, their windows darkened, save for the occasional flicker from a neon ‘Open’ sign that seems to hesitate before deciding it’s too late for business.
“Quiet night,” I murmur, my breath visible in the cool air.
“Always is around this time,” Texas replies, his voice low and steady. His boots click against the pavement, an unhurried rhythm that matches the calmness of his demeanor.
“Doesn’t it ever get to you? The silence?” I ask, wrapping my arms around myself.
“Sometimes,” he concedes, glancing at me with eyes reflecting the starlight. “But it’s moments like these when you can really hear yourself think.”
I nod, taking in the empty expanse, feeling the weight of my own thoughts pressing down. We pass by the old diner, its checkerboard floor barely visible through the glass. It’s where families come together, where pancakes are served with a side of laughter, and where every booth holds memories of shared secrets.
“Your family ever bring you there?” Texas asks, tipping his chin toward the diner.
“Once or twice,” I admit, the corner of my mouth lifting slightly. “Used to love their cherry pie.”
“Cherry pie, huh?” There’s a teasing lilt in his voice. “Guess we’ll have to make a stop sometime.”
